Rottenhouse (26 page)

11

‘
Yaseem to have nowt
to say, Simon. You’ve been sat there as silent as the grave for 5
minutes.’

Simon covered his mouth as he tried to
talk but coughed instead. With a struggle he managed to speak. ‘I
don’t really know what to say. You’ve told me things that, in all
honesty Mr Rowling, most men would give their left nut for. Stuff
that your wife wanted to do to you is what dreams are made of, for
the most part anyway. Plus, it’s just weird, right? You and me
having this conversation. What is it that you want from me?’

Mr Rowling rubbed the back of his neck;
agitated. He wasn’t used to this.

‘
We are going to be
family,’ Mr Rowling said finally, ‘you and me and her upstairs. I
suppose that I thought it best to warnya of what could be. Yaknow,
Simon, they say like father like son, but in our cases it could be
like mother like daughter. I wouldn’t wish what I went through on
any man.’

Confused and somewhat dismayed Simon
used his fingers against his closed eyes to try and rub that
frustration out of him. But it was doing no good.

‘
Ahhhhh, Christ,’
Simon said as he dragged his hands down his face stretching his
eyelids and cheeks. ‘I appreciate the warning, or whatever it was
supposed to be, Mr Rowling, and as much as it makes me want to tear
out my own guts in embarrassment I can only say that if Lucy
offered a slither of what you were put through I would die a happy
man.’ Simon flung his hands into the air, ‘There I said it. By all
that’s wrong in this world I am telling the father of the woman I
want to marry that I wouldn’t mind if she dressed up like a school
girl and wanted me to spank her let alone want to suck me off on a
Tuesday morning or whatever. Mr Rowling, really, are you really
telling me that you think this woman,’ Simon pointed to the
stunning female in the vintage photo with a finger that stabbed the
air, ‘that this Goddess that you thought was ugly not only was
besotted with you but offered you things of the carnal variety that
are like the sodding Holy Grail of sexy time. Is that what you are
telling me? Because if it is I may as well drown myself in that
stream out there.’

Mr Rowling picked at his ear, plucking
an errant hair and flicking onto the floor. Shaking his head he
said, ‘Not one for all this Simon. You can probably tell that and
maybe I went too far with what I went through with Mrs Rowling, but
it needed to be said, if yaknow what I mean.’

The old man looked at Simon then and
that usual blank expression was gone. Instead it was replaced with
one that Simon had never thought possible. It was the same look of
love and sorrow and care and comfort that his mother had given him
when he had told her about the way in which the man she loved and
married and took to bed and treated like a king had abused him
sexually, as well as physically.

‘
I know it weren’t the
way you wanted it, but nonetheless, you have my permission to marry
my Barbara. If you still want her, despite the looks.’

‘
Despite the
looks.’

‘
Aye, Simon. Yaknow,
she’s like her mother int she; nowt going for her apart from the
cooking that is. Now you is a good looking feller. Shiny Bait my
father would have said. Yadon’t have to settle for the burnt and
bony bit a meat. Not that I am that way inclined, Simon, I aint
no
poof-ter
like
that beshitted cock sucker down in Heather Cove.’

‘
What are you getting
at, Mr Rowling?’

‘
Yacould do better,
Simon. Camon, you must see it, especially when you had the pleasure
of the other lady folk of the village in club tonight. Now there
are some fine women, good women, with no filthy night time
habits.’

‘
Now I know you must
be joking.’ Simon said, though he knew that Mr Rowling wasn’t and
he could feel his own String starting to tighten. ‘Those trolls
aint a patch on Lucy. No wonder she left if this is what she had to
put up with.’

‘
What do
you
mean,
Simon?’

‘
She’s a smart, sexy
woman, with a mind to make something of herself, not just settle
for a single toothed, flannel shirt wearing shit farmer. That woman
up there is one of the very best, not only as a person, Mr Rowling,
but as a shrewd money making machine too. Don’t get me wrong, she
can be a total bitch sometimes, emotionless and hard much like I
see yourself being, but ugly, like you think she is ugly, is
complete and utter madness. And if that is what you think of her
then we have a problem. A big problem. You want to mend bridges,
you want to fix things with your daughter, then see her for what
she is before it’s too late, because I tell you, she is a stubborn
girl, and once she has made up her mind that’s it. Good luck trying
to change it.

‘
But to answer your
question; yes I do want to marry your daughter. Nothing would make
me happier and I thank you for your blessing. It makes me happy to
know that you will walk her down the aisle and I know that she will
be happy too.’

The trees outside creaked as the wind
whipped around them. In the distance the stream continued to flow
and bubble and splash over the rocks. Up in the valley there were
occasional bleats from the sheep still crazing on the sweet summer
grasses and twice Simon heard the cry of a wolf. Time past slowly,
the tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hallway slicing
through the thick silence like a steam train rolling across the
joins in the track.

Eventually Mr Rowling said, ‘I will
try, Simon. You have my word.’

‘
Thank you, Mr
Rowling.’

And then Mr Rowling offered Simon his
hand and Simon shook it.

‘
Please, Simon, call
me Bob.’

And that was that Simon thought. A few
more truths let out of the bag though they were both better for it.
He hadn’t the answers he wanted concerning the body in the river
and the way in which they treated Lewis but he also knew that he
shouldn’t really concern himself about it. Let them carry on just
as long as it didn’t affect him or Lucy; he couldn’t really care
less now what they did. If Mr Rowling, Bob, could try and change
and be a better man then Simon was sure he could do the same and
accept that weird and twisted world of Rottenhouse a little bit
more openly no matter how much it grappled with his own set of
morals.

They leak. They bleed. They don’t stop
once they started.

But he still wanted to know about
Billie.

He still wanted to know who she was,
who had killed her for he was sure that she was real and sadly,
dead, though he suspected he knew the answer to at least one of
those questions.

12

‘
What are the other
two pictures of?’

‘
To be honest, Simon,
I don’t know why I brought them in with me. Before you go back
south I shall show you, these and some other bits in study which
I’m sure you’ll appreciate.’

Simon had to stifle a
laugh as he remembered the Hitler bust as well as the maddening
face of Thrumpers cook book, but then his expression changed and he
felt his face redden.
They Leak, They
Bleed, They don’t stop once they started
.
He was sure he would never forget those words for the rest of his
days.

‘
Do you fish,
Simon?’

‘
Nope… Well, I once
went sea fishing on the back of my mate’s boat in the Solent down
south around Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight. We got a little
sauced up on cheap beer and the fishing kind of got forgotten.
Think I caught a crab and a milk bottle.’

‘
So
no
then?’

‘
No.’

‘
So you have been
fishing.’

‘
Wait, no, no I
haven’t been fishing.’

Bob scratched his head, ‘I’m
confused.’

‘
Me too. Let’s start
over.’

‘
Simon, have you ever
river fished?’

‘
No, Bob, I
haven’t.’

‘
Tomorrow I shall take
you over to the Deep and Quick and we shall have a little fish. All
day mind you, from dawn till dusk.’

Simon accepted.

Bob stood, slid the chair under the
table and as he walked around the table whilst saying his goodnight
he placed a hand upon Simons shoulder. ‘Good talk, Simon. We shall
speak more tomorrow.’

‘
Yeah, it was. Look
forward to tomorrow.’ Simon said and surprisingly; he wasn’t
lying.

Pink Meat (The Fishing
Scene)

1

Simon didn’t dream that night. He slept
the kind of sleep he believed soldiers did when they came back from
war. Lucy had been asleep when he had finally gone to bed. He did
consider waking her to see if she was okay, but just as he was
about to give her a shake he thought better of it. Why wake a
sleeping bear even if that bear might give you a comforting hug and
words of encouragement? No, best to leave her to sleep, to dream,
as the chances of that bear tearing your face off were way too
high.

Instead he had slept
right through from when his head hit the pillow till there was a
little knock that came from behind the bedroom door. As he walked
over to the door in just his pants he glanced at his watch, 05:58,
the digital numbers stated in that bold
yeah and what ya gonna do about it
way. Yawning deep and rubbing the yellowing dust the fairies
leave whilst you sleep from his eyes Simon slowly opened the
door.

Bob was stood on the other side; fully
dressed in his fishing garb, plastic waders included, and a look of
sinful pleasure was upon his face.

‘
Good morning,’ Bob
said, ‘you’ve got 15 minutes until we leave. Dress for the weather
but take a jumper just in case.’

‘
Okay.’ And with that
Bob headed off along the hallway and down the creaky stairs walking
like a robot.

2

16 minutes later, Simon was sat in the
back seat of Bob’s car; his breath fogging the windows as he waited
for the old man to finish placing his fishing gear into the boot.
Simon had offered to help, which of course, was turned down, and so
he sat waiting for his father-in-law like a good boy should. Simon
wasn’t the best judge of character but was now starting to
understand Bob, though he knew that his understanding was much like
the understanding the very best scientist have of our universe in
so much as we know a little, enough to get us by but every now and
then the universe throws us a curveball that makes us sit up and
take notice.

3

They drove for about 30 minutes in
silence. Outside the world whizzed by one field at a time.
Rottenhouse stood in a part of England that was renowned for its
natural beauty but the drive to wherever it was they were going
lost some of that charm as all Simon saw was farm land and fencing.
An occasional cow here and there and a random flock of sheep grazed
on the land but apart from that it was just endless bland
countryside. That was until they reached their destination. The car
was parked in a small clearing which was at the end of a muddy
track cut deep into the forest. The trees draped low, swooping
arches and clumps of bush and flowers dotted the path. It reminded
Simon of the entrance to the Batcave from one of the movies made in
the 90’s. Simon and Bob carried the fishing gear down to the river
in single file, Bob leading the way. Crickets played their crooked
banjo tunes whilst birds sang along aimlessly, seemingly not
knowing the words. Midges and fat honey bees flew around on their
own mini adventures and Simon, both hands full, blew at them if
they came close. The trees here were as tall as any tree Simon had
ever seen, their branches reaching out far and wide and there green
leaves casting deep shadows upon the forest floor. In between the
shadows were sharp swords of light slicing through the gloom and at
their tips random clumps of flowers grew. Some Simon recognised,
others he didn’t, and he made sure not to tread on any one of them.
There was a heavenly feel to this place. The air was soft and easy
to breathe and it filled him with energy.

Ten minutes later, with Simons
shoulders starting to burn such was the burden he carried, the
familiar sound of flowing water began to overpower the tweeting
birds and the crushing of forest detritus under his boots. The
midges and honey bees thinned and were replaced with long, thin
dragon flies. Simon wouldn’t have been surprised if a little fat
white rabbit wearing a top hat and carrying a timepiece was to have
run past him, a flummoxed Alice in hot pursuit, such was the
majesty and oddity of this place.

Simon, not really
paying attention to the road ahead, came face to face with a tree
blocking his path, his nose inches away from being smashed to bits.
For a moment he thought that Mr Rowling had simply walked into it,
through it, perhaps. But then his mind settled. Two wooden signs,
with arrows pointing left and right was nailed to that tree and two
paths followed those arrows. The path to the left was labelled; The
Quick and Deep, the one to the right was labelled; Old Brew House,
but Brew
had had a line scratched through
it and over the top had been written in a rough hand,
Rotten.

Simon looked to his
left and saw Bob walking through the rays of sunshine, his fishing
rod and net laid across his shoulder and his fishing box swinging
gracefully in his right hand. Before he followed, Simon looked down
the right hand path. The forest wasn’t as pretty down there and a
cold wind whipped about his feet like dancing pixies. It was
darker, though the sun shone through in the same sword like beams
of light, it
was
darker. The trees overhung the track and their branches
reached out as if to snag you and pull you into their twisted grip.
Nothing was visually different down there; it felt different and
because it felt different Simon knew that it was different. On one
of the trees there was a faded marking, what was once red was now a
brownish colour. Simon was unsure, but to him the marking looked
like an X.